A Chthonic Odyssey
by QuillerQueen
Summary: "Sing to me of soul mates, Muse, the love of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once they had stepped from the hallowed page of lore..." Regina descends into the Underworld to bring Robin back - but, as it always is with these two, there's a catch. Written for OQ Fix It Week.
1. Bait and Switch

_Sing to me of soul mates, Muse, the love of twists and turns_

 _driven time and again off course, once they had stepped from the hallowed page of lore._

* * *

Regina comes alone.

She tells no one of her plan as she watches Robin's coffin be lowered into the ground (and bloody hell, if that—his near and dear ones mourning his loss, his son crushed and his soul mate heartbroken—isn't the most fucking dreadful thing he's ever witnessed). She says nothing of it as she sits at _their_ table, in _their_ booth, stroking _his_ empty spot on _their_ bench, deaf for the most part to the condolences laid gently, if hastily, at her feet. Once the wake is over and everyone scatters from Granny's to their homes, Regina does the same—and Snow White's watchful eye is fooled by the ploy just like everyone else.

No one knows of Regina's plan—except for Robin.

For Robin, stuck in boundless fields of pale asphodel, is listening.

He can almost hear the soft click-clack of her heels she berates herself for as she sneaks out like a shadow under the cloak of night; can imagine the gentle rustle of a satchel of provisions clutched under her coat; and distinctly makes out the last, barely whispering vestiges of hope hunkered in the deepest corner of her heart.

It's that wonderfully resilient heart of hers that speaks to him even now, though in slightly different ways under the circumstances. He knows it well enough to understand why, loath to risk any more lives, she sets out to brave the dark Stygian depths on her own. She carries so much fear, so much doubt, and guilt, and pain; yet the weight she ultimately bends under is that of love. Every other thought, every other emotion is imbued with it, fuelled by it, drowned out by its might even as she follows him where she's no way of knowing he's presently to be found.

Affection swells within as he waits for her, itching to reach out and alleviate some of her pain as she ventures to do the impossible.

Then again, had they not beaten impossible odds time and again before? Was he not supposed to have ceased to exist? Could there be a way out for him after all? Is there a way-or must they be ripped apart again, with the sole consolation at least this time they get the chance to say a proper goodbye?

Robin knows exactly when Regina's descent below ground is complete, for the moment she embarks to cross the mist-hung waters in Charon's ferry, he no longer hears her thoughts.

Isolated in this squalid place with a myriad listless, wandering souls, he's left with no way of knowing what goes on beyond its confines.

And so the wait begins.

* * *

Regina's been preparing for the worst-for Robin's absence in the land of the dead and no proof of his existence elsewhere-but she's nowhere near ready for _this_.

Barely has she reached the other shore of the River Styx when the first stirrings of trouble present themselves.

"What the-?"

"-hell?" the gnarled-limbed ferryman finishes for her. "I know, right? Even with the old order I had my work cut out for me, but this? This-chaos? This pandemonium?"

Manoeuvring around a cluster of howling souls crowding the usual landing spot, the skeletal man rows further upstream. The sight of him only seems to act as bait, luring dozens to give chase.

Regina grips the sides of the dangerously rocking boat.

"What's going on?" Her first thought is they're here for her, bearing old grudges and wounds inflicted by the Evil Queen. "What do they want?"

"To cross, of course! But I sure ain't ferrying anyone back to the surface-look what happened the last time we let you mortals walk outta here. Hades-gone! Stripped of his powers! His realm in disarray!"

Charon continues to steer them off course, spilling profanities at the souls clamouring after them amid the tireless tirade he rains down upon Regina.

"Even the afterlife isn't what it used to be," he carps. "Sure, that flea-ridden beast Cerberus is having a field day, chasing around the damned and the redeemed, but does anyone give a damn about _my_ workload? I'm not cut out for this border patrol duty-not like this anyway."

Regina, fighting back an eyeroll in hopes of gleaning some useful information from this outburst, looks up into his flaming eye sockets.

"The damned _and_ the redeemed?" she repeats. That's new-and most definitely not good.

"Why, after Hades' fall, all hell broke loose! Without him, there's nothing keeping the damned from walking in the light, or the good from being cast into eternal night. I swear if I could hold my liquor," he pats his belly, rattling the bare bones underneath his filthy cloak, "I'd already have started drinking on the job."

"Yeah, well," she scoffs, "perhaps there's an alternative solution to the problem?"

She's here for Robin. She never once dreamed to find herself in a world upside down in a way more atrocious than the mess that had been Underbrooke. But just as she couldn't leave the first time to chase her own selfish goals, the sense of obligation wins out again. They are, after all, somewhat responsible for the current state of affairs, having upset the balance on their quest to bring back Hook ending in Hades annihilation-never once considering the consequences for the order of the world. So she can't help the question, even though it derails from her original mission.

"Sure, Your Majesty," Charon cackles, coughing up little balls of dust as he finally heads to a patch of rocky shore surrounded by jagged cliffs, and shoos her to disembark. "Just a trifle, really. Tiny little thing-almost unfit for a hero of your calibre."

Regina sees it coming-should have seen it coming all along, really.

"You must find someone else to take Hades' throne."

* * *

She fucking hates this godforsaken-pun absolutely intended, thank you very much-place. The first time had been bad enough, but at least Underbrooke had been familiar, its streets and buildings interwoven in a pattern they'd recognised. But this, now? They should give out fucking maps on entry.

Except those wouldn't really be needed ordinarily; it's precisely the utter lack of order that makes the task of finding one's way around so damn frustrating.

Regina roams the bright fields of the blessed, on the lookout for former leaders with the potential to take on the delicate task of restoring said order. She scours grassy hillocks and babbling brooks of a countryside so gorgeous and idyllic it puts the most sickeningly sweet of pastoral images to shame. She braves the desolate wastelands, dark rocks dotted with seething, fire-spitting volcanoes and pits of molten lava, seeking those wielding magic and willing to take the reins. Everywhere she goes, she crosses paths with a motley of souls of the most varied of merits and depravities.

Regina's head aches, her fists clench from sheer frustration when neither the deepest circle of hell nor the brightest tier of light brings answers. Not a single candidate seems a decent match-and none, no matter how noble or distinguished, seem all too keen to ascend the hellish throne. From the depths of depravity, where the only volunteers rear their heads to slobber over the idea of such power, she refuses to choose.

Worse yet, her eyes are sore and scratchy from scouring the horizon for the familiar figure of her soul mate-all in vain.

Not another failure. Not another heartbreak.

Even if she did find him-it seems fucking impossible to find anyone at all, even knowing for a fact they're actually here, in such disarray-they'd still need to find a way to get past Charon, who'd categorically stated Regina herself, much less anyone else, won't be leaving without the express authorisation of the new ruler.

"I suppose you could try one of the Titans," says a man fumbling to hide an ornate sceptre (the reason she, in her final desperation, chose to address him in the first place) as his two companions throw her evasive glances. "Some of the better ilk might be grateful enough for the rescue not to wage war on the world like they did in the days of yore. But I wouldn't rely on it. In fact, I strongly advise against it."

"Why would I even need to free them?" Regina frowns, irritation catching flame quickly-why do people always insist on wasting her time by dwelling on things that _cannot_ be done? "Aren't all residents able to go wherever they please nowadays?"

"Not all, no. The Titans' chains are forged with the power of the Olympians-they're held by more than the mere might of Hades. Ironically, so is Hades himself."

"Hades is dead," she says flatly. "Obliterated."

And if the damn crystal can do that to a god, then Robin-

"Hades is immortal." The man puts up a hand to stop her from speaking, and Regina, forgetting momentarily about the limitations this awful realm places on her magic, is about to incinerate him on the spot for the sheer daring and blatant condescension of the gesture, when he adds quickly: "You can't kill gods, not even with the Olympian Crystal-merely trap them. Hades was cast down to the depths of the same prison he'd been lord of."

 _Oh._

So Hades had lied to them after all.

Could this mean-?

"What would the crystal do to a mortal?" Regina asks, tripping over the words as her heart picks up speed. She tries, truly she does, not to get her hopes up-but she's already here, isn't she, so who is she even fooling?

"There's no such precedent," the second man cuts in, fidgeting with the diadem in his curly hair.

"True," nods the first. "In theory, though, such a soul would be exempt from our-exempt from judgement," he corrects hastily, yet too slow to cover the collective intake of breath of his distraught companions. "Trapped by the crystal's power, they could enter neither the highest nor the lowest tier of afterlife. They'd be stuck in the middle for all eternity."

"A harsh punishment for the righteous," adds the third man, twirling his bright flowery crown. "Possibly a relief for the wicked."

"Debatable," argues the second, prompting a lively discussion on the subject.

But Regina is in no mood for philosophical debate.

Robin is here. He has to be. He may be dead, but his soul's intact after all, and she _will_ get to him, she will-if it is the last thing she does.

"Where exactly would I find such a soul?" she cuts across them unceremoniously.

"Why, in the Asphodel Meadows, of course."

* * *

It's bloody torture.

Ever since Robin's demise, the thoughts of his loved ones have kept him company-a blessing and a curse alike. Of all those he'd left behind, it's Roland's tender heart that calls out to him most often, shattering his own to pieces with his incomparable grief. Robin hasn't lost his son entirely, remains connected to him through Roland's memories, but the inevitable heartache means he's constantly torn between joy and sorrow, oftentimes wondering if, given the option, he'd choose to sever the connection to (selfishly) spare himself the pain.

He wouldn't.

He knows this now, because while it pains him greatly to be witness-and source-of their suffering, the silence is so much worse.

How long has it been since the last echo of Regina's voice? Days? Weeks? A decade? Time is an elusive concept down here.

 _Elusive_. Like that satisfying smile of hers he still thinks about every time he closes his eyes. Not that he's any thought of sleep-there's no need for him to anymore, anyway. But he thinks about her all the same, oh does he ever-pictures her soft, happy, and radiant; bold, sassy, and temperamental; visualises every feature and every curve, holding on to every little detail catalogued by awestruck eyes and questing fingers while he anxiously awaits her arrival.

To what end, he doesn't know.

Just seeing her, just holding her one more time, scattering the dark clouds his death has brought upon her brow, would be enough. (It won't be, but he can pretend for a while it might.) He's been aching to chase away that guilt he knows she's feeling, the blame she puts on herself, the firm belief she's doomed to both lose love herself and bring doom upon those she loves. And he longs also to scatter demons of his own, to soothe his own pain in her embrace, to quell his regret that their story had to take yet another dreadful turn.

Days. Weeks. A decade.

Until his ceaseless, mechanical wanderings across the vast grey fields have him turn and face the never-changing horizon-and spot a figure moving towards him, for the first time since his arrival here, _with purpose_. Not wandering. Seeking.

She's too far away to make out, but his heart knows.

"Regina!"

They break into a run in the same heartbeat, arms whipping and feet trampling the long stalks of vegetation with no care in the world other than to finally get close enough to recognise one another's features (her smile, gods, the sheer brightness of it must make her jaw hurt just like his own is doing); close enough to hear them call their name (their voices even hitch in perfect unison); and finally, _finally_ close enough to launch themselves into waiting arms.

She's crying, gripping and clutching at him so tight it almost hurts-and Robin will gladly bear it for the rest of his life if it means no more forced goodbyes. He pulls her impossibly close, cradling her head against his shoulder with fierce tenderness before she raises her tear-stained face in a blur of motion and begins to dot kisses all over his mouth, cheeks, nose-wherever she can reach. She's frantic. Frantic and disbelieving-and he can barely believe it himself.

"Regina," he says thickly, struggling to soothe her erratic fumbling with soft touches of his own. "Darling, it's okay, I'm here-you're here."

She sobs at that, repeats his name over and over again, kissing and stroking feverishly.

"I'm s-so sorry," she says brokenly, and her voice splinters into a thousand fragmented pieces as she mutters apology after apology into his neck.

"Oh, my love," Robin whispers, rocking them gently, pressing heated kisses into her hair. She's covered in soot, smells of sulphur and smoke, and she's still about the most beautiful sight he's ever beheld. "None of that, now."

"Are you okay?" she sniffs, palming his face, searching for physical traces of his malady. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no." Dying hurt, missing them hurt, but all of that hardly matters anymore. He's no less eager to check her for injuries, brushing hair from across her forehead and dropping a kiss over a bruise on her brow (it even tastes of ash). "Are you okay? I was so worried-it felt like bloody ages for you to reach me, I thought something might have happened to you."

That ashy brow of hers furrows at that, and before he could attempt to kiss away the creases, she's pulling back-though only just enough to hold his eyes without having to squint.

"You knew I was coming? How?"

"From you."

And he tells her all about his peculiar experiences in this strange land, tells her above all of how _the dead can hear your thoughts_ , and what bittersweet consolation that's been to him, and _thank you for remembering-for loving me so fiercely_. Beyond that, he finds he cannot speak, all choked up and wary of her frame tensing infinitesimally in his embrace.

"You shouldn't have done this," she says at long last.

It hardly surprises him-they'd had these conversations before, when consequences of their mutual willingness to throw themselves into harm's way for the other had merely approached fatal.

"You'd have done the same," he tells her, soft but firm. "Don't even try to deny it."

She doesn't; instead she extricates herself from his arms, pushing at him until she's holding both his hands in hers, still toe to toe but touching nowhere but the fingers she's toying with, eyes averted.

"But I didn't," she says bitterly, her words dripping pure self-loathing. "I could have magicked us out of there, or at least tried to. Instead I froze-and then it was too late."

"And yet you never froze when it was Henry, or Snow, or Roland, or me." And that, they both know, speaks volumes about her priorities, about how she loves others but not yet herself, about the long way to self-acceptance still ahead. This isn't the time to delve into that though-there'll be plenty of time later if he's lucky enough to witness that journey. "I suppose we've a penchant for saving one another."

She's relentless though-inconsolable.

"Robin, you _died_. This can't happen again."

"I take it that means we're leaving here together, yeah?" In hopes of coaxing a smile out of her, of lightening the conversation, he adds: "Because I never want to see a pale flower ever again."

But all his attempt earns him is a frustrated sigh.

"Robin, I mean it. I won't have you putting your life on the line for me."

"I'll promise to stop if you do the same."

"That's not-"

"Fair?" he suggests, raising an eyebrow at her.

"It's not the same."

"How is it not the same? And don't tell me you're not worth it, Regina, because that's simply not true."

Except she firmly believes just that-and he categorically rejects the very notion. Even as she grasps for some other justification (they'd exhausted the topic of their children, their friends, the good they can and do bring to the world many times over) he can tell she knows it's a losing battle as ever before.

The silence stretches on, and Regina's squared shoulders slump. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms wind around his torso once more, and he exhales in relief and anticipation as her lips hover inches from his.

She pours her everything into the kiss, tender at first then building in toe-curling increments, and all thought flies out of his head except for the single fleeting one that tells him perhaps _this_ is how she brings him back to life.

Gasping for breath, they stand unmoving. They simply _are_ -for a moment, or two, or a thousand.

"Wanna go home?" she breathes.

"With you? There's nothing I'd love more."

* * *

The first feat-leaving the Asphodel Meadows confining undistinguished souls-turns out a startlingly easy one. Much like they've both come to hope after Regina'd filled him in on the current state of the Underworld, there's not an obstacle barring their path-nothing seems to be keeping the souls from leaving this corner of the land other than the sad, immovable listlessness of those trapped here by their own limits even with the realm's magical borders down.

Robin counts his blessings for resisting that pull of lethargy, and squeezing Regina's hand, tugs her gently into his side, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"Which way to the Judges?" he asks, and follows her lead as they set off at a brisk pace.

Even with directions, the landscape is near impossible to navigate. They're thrown off course by treacherous trails leading to nothing but dead ends; betrayed by patches of quicksand masquerading as solid ground; blinded by gusts of wind throwing specks of ash in their faces, stinging in the eyes and singing their skin.

When they finally find their previous location, the threesome they were counting on for counsel is nowhere in sight.

 _Well, fuck._

There goes their hottest trail to a rescue.

Robin runs a hand through his hair, tightening his arm around Regina's shoulders. Her solid form is soothing as she leans in-until it occurs to him that she's resting somewhat heavily against his side.

"We should stop," Robin suggests. "Take a break."

"No," she protests croakily, refusing to meet his eyes. "We need to keep going. They could be close, they might know someone willing to-"

"Perhaps, but you're dead on your feet. How long since you last allowed yourself some rest?"

Not since she set foot in here, if he were to guess.

It takes a while to convince her, despite the way she sways on her feet from exhaustion, and in the end he simply stands his ground and declares he's not moving from the spot unless she agrees to take at least a short nap.

There's an elm not far away, she tells him groggily, and everyone seems to give it a wide berth for some, presumably perfectly unpleasant, reason. So that's where they head, for lack of a better idea, and settle down at its foot, Robin's back to the trunk and Regina gathered in his arms. She's tense, a bowstring drawn tight enough to snap, her fingers digging into his bicep rather desperately.

"Sleep, love," he whispers, ghosting a kiss over the shell of her ear. "I'll be here when you wake."

Her head barely finds the cushion of his shoulder before her eyes close, and her deepening breaths resonate against his chest.

* * *

She dreams of home.

Knows she's dreaming, because of how real, and peaceful, and happy it feels. Her kitchen is bathed in warm orange hues, friendly and welcoming, so very unlike the hellish lighting of the Underworld-and there's Robin now, tossing a laughing Roland up in the air as she and Henry warm up a bottle for the baby girl (gurgling happily in her bassinet) whose name most definitely isn't Robyn.

A possibility, just out of reach.

Always out of reach, so close yet never quite theirs to keep.

How will she get him out of here? Without a new ruler, there's no one to petition for Robin's life. More than that-thousands of souls suffer oppression under the wicked. Sure, they could try to break Robin out, and possibly succeed…

But could either of them live with the knowledge that countless innocents are paying the price of their happiness?

A heartbeat-and she's transported to her vault, dark, cold, and empty. Empty except for a sceptre and a stack of keys placed atop her parents' tomb, circled by a diadem entwined in wildflowers. The odd arrangement rustles with a distant echo that sends chills down her spine.

 _You set your sights too far, dear child,  
_ _While the answer you seek  
_ _Lies inside._

* * *

Robin doesn't sleep-neither needs nor wants to. He takes watch instead, glaring at every passerby, the timid and the rowdy, ready to ward them off should they choose to exploit their vulnerable position. Nobody approaches them.

So he redirects his full attention to the woman sleeping fitfully in his arms. Her eyelashes flutter now and again, and her features aren't quite relaxed, but a smile is playing on her lips as he brushes stray strands of hair from her face.

 _Oh to wake up to this sight for many years to come._

He hates this place so bloody much for all it's done to them, and for all the obstacles it's yet to put in their way. Yet he supposes some modicum of gratitude is due as well, for his fate has actually been much kinder than the version Hades had threatened with. And for all its current turmoil, Regina and he have both managed to stay out of harm's way so far.

He just wants to go home with his soul mate, back to their children, back to all the trials and tribulations of their messy (an understatement if there ever has been one) but oh so precious second (third? fifth? dozenth?) chance.

Which isn't going to happen until order is restored beneath the surface. Not at the expense of all the righteous ousted from their rightful place in the afterlife. Someone must be willing to take the helm.

And hopefully that someone will grant them a wish in exchange for the favour.

And if they don't, well...

His thumb, stroking softly across the apple of Regina's cheeks, wanders to her forehead, and Robin sighs at the wrinkles of worry etched into her brow. Her jaw tightens, and she whimpers softly. He rocks them almost imperceptibly, enclosing her in his warmth. She shivers nonetheless.

"Regina," he whispers, loath to wake her but unwilling to let her suffer even in slumber, knowing how vicious her nightmares tend to get. "Shhh, you're all right…"

She blinks her eyes open, staring up at him with a softening expression as she reaches a trembling hand to stroke his face. It's but a moment though before she's sitting up, her features rearranging once more to look more determined than ever, and scrambles to her feet.

With a sigh he follows, lacing his fingers with hers as they resume their endless quest.

* * *

"Regina, can we please stop for a moment?"

They've spent a veritable eternity combing the blasted land, looking for someone worthy and willing to take the throne, but their search has turned up nothing. Minute by minute, the realm sinks into an ever deeper state of disarray. Anarchy feeds violence, and danger is omnipresent.

"I'm fine, Robin," she dismisses impatiently, her fuse ever shorter the more her frustration grows. "I don't need rest. What I need is to find someone-anyone-with at least a semblance of leadership skill and a speck of integrity, to just-"

"It's not that," he sighs, perfectly aware just how badly received his words are going to be. "We need to talk."

"Now? About what?"

She's wary-and rightfully so. Those words seem to be universally ominous in themselves, no matter the circumstance, and perhaps he should've chosen them more carefully, but in this particular case his word choice isn't going to matter. No sugar-coating is going to mitigate the impact, so he cuts right to the chase.

"About the possibility that I might have to stay here after all." She shudders at that, a dozen emotions ranging from disbelief through betrayal to defiance flitting through her eyes in a mere second. Robin understands, truly he does, but she must hear him out-she must. "No, Regina, _please_ listen to me. If this new monarch agrees to let me go, you know I won't hesitate a second. But if they don't-"

"Then we leave anyway," she snaps, immovable. "I don't give a damn about their approval."

"But I do." He takes her hands in his with a pang of guilt at finding them cold and trembling. "Regina, if we reinstate order and our next step is to break it just to get me out of where I, by the laws of nature, now belong… They'll be out to get us. And maybe I'll survive this time, but someone else may not. And that's not something I want hanging over me, or our children, or-"

Her eyes, welled up at first, now grow distant.

"Regina?" he questions, squeezing her hands.

Next thing he knows she's slipping from his grasp, her voice measured and her face closed off.

"I think we should split up."

* * *

This way they can cover more ground, she says.

Yet five thousand paces and not a single candidate later, Robin is half-resigned to having to remain after all. With a heavy heart he turns, as agreed, to take the same way back. Five thousand paces he spends rearing up for another fight to convince Regina, even though he detests the very idea himself, that this is how it must end. Not enough time in the world to prepare for the ultimate (and gods, there's been too many already) gut-wrenching goodbye.

Regina, however, approaches with a crooked smile, eyes shining with something more than imminent tears. Hope blooms, and the stirrings of a tentative grin tickle his cheeks before she closes the distance between them and pulls him into a passionate kiss.

It's all tangling tongues and nipping teeth as her fingers tug at his hair and his hands slide to her waist and lower still, grasping and taking, gasping and giving, like a silent promise of forever. When she tears her lips away from his after long moments of utter bliss, he chases them with another kiss, soft and gentle like a sweet confession, and another small peck to seal the deal.

She chuckles wetly at that-music to his ears-and presses her forehead to his with her arms around his neck and wrists locking at his nape as she draws heavy, ragged breaths.

"You're going home," she tells him. "I've found just the person."

* * *

Old man Charon practically falls over himself welcoming them aboard, ushering Robin to the bow of his boat and attempting-in vain-clumsy small talk with Regina.

Even though their hands remain joined, Robin can't stop glancing at her for proof that this is indeed real. She looks...well, gorgeous as ever, though not quite as aglow with triumph as she might. Her eyes are a tad glassy, her smile a touch wobbly, but her relief is tangible.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his hand steady on the small of her back.

"Fine," she returns much too quickly. He tilts his head, raising a doubtful eyebrow at her. "Just...tired," she concedes, pressing a kiss to his cheek and lingering there until the boat hits the shore with a _plunk_.

She disentangles herself then and gives him a gentle nudge.

Robin steps off the ferry, thanking his lucky star-and Regina's resilient heart-for making him the proverbial exception to Charon's rule about never returning souls to the surface.

"You know," he quips with a heart light as a feather as he turns to offer Regina a hand, "you still haven't told me how you found the solution."

"I hear no one else wanted the gig," says Charon with a shrug.

And before the implication fully sinks in, a burst of magic pushes the ferry away from the shore-away from Robin.

What the hell does the blasted man think he's doing?

Except it's not Charon or his sad little pole but Regina's hands emitting hissing sparks of energy.

She's not supposed to have magic down here-not like this anyway.

That's when he understands.

 _It should have been me,_ her thoughts would ring, echoing the words to him countless times over his lifeless body-because it had been Regina after all Hades had targeted and not Robin, and _it should always have been me._

"Regina- _no_!"

His desperate scream sets his lungs on fire as he plunges into the icy waters, a myriad pinpricks and then numbness in his limbs before he dives in to swim-but she's faster, conjures up an invisible shield that won't let him any further.

Shivering thigh-deep in the river, Robin watches her standing statuesque on the stern, hands wrapped around her torso, tears rolling down her face as they are his own.

"I'm sorry," she says, as if somehow that made all of this even remotely okay. "There was no other way."

And as the boat slices through the thick white curtain of impenetrable fog, Regina breaks the awful, crushing silence one last time.

"I love you," she sobs.

Darkness swallows her.


	2. Dread Empress

_(AN: While this fandom is clearly full of gluttons for punishment, and I did technically fulfil the task of questing to bring Robin back in the first instalment of this story, I feel OQ deserve a better, happier fix than where we left off. So here it is (and along the way I may have fixed something else as well - at least it gives me peace of mind).)_

* * *

Silence.

That's all there is for her, deafening and merciless.

Souls mill about, herded into their rightful places by Regina's capable hand, never speaking to her unless spoken to. Their deference sets them apart, highlighting what she didn't quite appreciate when she made the decision to dwell in the depths of hell: far from equals, they're of different sorts, with no room for kinship between them. Her charges don't mix with their sovereign, floating by on hushed whispers that don't carry quite far enough for her to even make out.

She wondered, before, if she'd hear his thoughts (reproachful? pleading? both?) the way Robin'd heard hers. Clearly that was too much to hope for. So she's left to seek comfort in the knowledge that now she's no longer a danger or hindrance to him-or any one of her loves ones-he can hope for a good, long life.

And one day, in due time-and no sooner-he'll return to the Stygian shores and be allowed to enter.

Perhaps on that day she'll learn if he's ever forgiven her.

Perhaps then she'll learn if, free of the burden of karma trailing behind her, he's finally found happiness.

* * *

A long line of souls has come and gone, and Robin still hasn't left the lonely shores of the Styx. He's not allowed entry, nor will he be any time soon-he knows Regina well enough to understand she'll have done a thorough job of locking him out.

She'd tricked him.

What's worse, she'd been planning it. It's clear as day to him now. He looks back upon those last moments, and her impenetrable expression before she suggested they part ways for a bit reads all too easily. She may not even have bothered searching at that point, merely played for time and an excuse to cement her plan, to fool him into believing someone had agreed to take the throne and set them free.

"Goddamnit, Regina," he groans, pounding a jagged rock with clenched fists, his voice rising to a roar along with his temper. "Goddamnit!"

She'd lied to him-knowing he'd never want that kind of out, knowing he'd never accept to pay that price, knowing fully well just how hurt he'd be. She'd lied through her broken smile, blamed her breaking heart on simple exhaustion, kissed him goodbye without him even knowing it. She'd _lied_ to him, and traded her life for his without giving him a choice.

And Robin hates her for it.

But gods, he still loves her with every last ounce of his being.

* * *

His children are what ultimately draws him out to the surface again.

Peanut is none the wiser for his abrupt absence or equally unforeseen return, but welcomes him back with no less joy for it. Gazing at him with clear blue eyes, she waves tiny fists in front of his face in delight when he takes her in his arms again, and squeezes tight at his finger. They'll revisit the issue of her name at some point, but for now the nickname will do.

Roland on the other hand is floored. He doesn't believe at first that his father's truly back. Having lost his mama twice due to Zelena's ploy, it had been hard enough to explain the place of no return to the child. When Robin died, Little John took it upon himself to find a way for Roland to understand, and his poor boy went from denial to apathy to a firm belief Daddy would be back any moment now on an hourly basis.

Now Roland is fearful and unsure, whether afraid of him or the possibility he might leave again Robin doesn't know-but it certainly claws at his heart with unprecedented savagery.

Once he does dare believe his miraculous return, he won't leave Robin's side-they spend entire days literally attached at the hip.

Yet even so Roland's happiness isn't unfettered.

Much as he, the Merry Men, and his Storybrooke friends rejoice over Robin's return, Regina's absence leaves a festering wound in everyone's lives. Roland's little heart takes another blow at this loss-but no one is more affected than Henry.

Thanks to a note left to him, he'd known of the nature of his mother's quest, though not her destination (a smart move on Regina's part, one to ensure she wouldn't be followed). With the Charmings gathered around, and just seconds after everyone's faces light up at his return then screw up in confusion and worry at the lack of Regina by his side, it falls to Robin to relay the horrible news.

Unsurprisingly, Henry doesn't take it well.

"She went in to rescue you, and you just-I can't believe you just left her there," he throws in Robin's face, fists clenched and tears just about to spill, before he stomps up the stairs and locks himself in his room.

Robin sends a quiet thought to Regina, knowing how utterly devastated she'd be to see her boy like this. For the first time since her devious plot, he feels not a speck of anger towards her. Only grief. And love.

For that at least he's grateful.

* * *

The seance is Henry's idea.

He gathers them all-Emma, Snow White, David, and Killian-in Regina's kitchen, an ancient tome propped open on the table and a repentant expression on his face as he offers Robin a terse but heartfelt apology.

"I know you love her," he tells him. "And I know how stubborn she can be. I shouldn't have assumed-"

"We're good, Henry," Robin interrupts, because they're both hurting and so he understands. It isn't lost on him how similar Henry's reaction was to the way Regina processes things-quick-tempered, heartfelt, strong-on-the-outside-even-when-crumbling-inwardly before he was ready to make amends and open up to a select few. "You're truly your mother's son, you know."

And then his arms are full of the gangly boy, and his heart somehow fuller as well.

Not so an hour later, when their hopes to call forth Regina's ghost have turned to dust.

"Mom would never refuse to talk to me," Henry says, slumped in his chair.

"Maybe I'm just not powerful enough, kid," Emma tells him ruefully. "Last time it took both mine _and_ Regina's magic."

Robin sighs, rubbing his neck. There's another possibility, a rather obvious one no one seems willing to address-namely, that Regina isn't exactly a ghost, which is why contacting her this way might just be impossible.

Late that night, he crawls into bed (Roland is asleep in Regina's sheets, his baby scent mingling with the unmistakable apple-and-spice lingering on the pillows) weary and bereft.

 _Oh Regina, if only you knew how sorely you're missed._

* * *

On the shores of the Styx, the mist rises and dissolves into tiny puffs, and there in the middle of the mirror-like surface stands Regina.

Clad in rich, velvet darker than the night, decked in sable onyx and a diamond-studded tiara woven into ebony locks, she resembles an otherworldly apparition of the Evil Queen. Only her face betrays she's very much the Regina he'd been forced to leave behind.

"Is this real?" he wonders, dazed, for it can't be.

"As real as dreams can be."

It's not, then. And still he can't help but reach out for her.

A sad smile lifts the corners of her mouth, and she takes a step, then another, towards him, until all he needs to do is raise his hand and touch her.

So he does.

She doesn't dissolve. Doesn't run. Doesn't push him away. Instead her eyes flutter closed, and her head rests on his shoulder when he pulls her close.

"I miss you," he whispers, breathing her in, nearly staggering on his feet as the world seems to momentarily right itself.

But it's all temporary, isn't it? He's going to wake up in a minute, or an hour, or a few-and she won't be there. Nor will she ever be there.

The air grows acrid in his lungs, his blood boils with rage.

"Gods, Regina," he groans in frustration. His fingers curl gently around her arms, but his words cut. "I miss you so bloody much. We all do. Did you really think you're so disposable?"

She chooses to let that question go, not for the first time. They both know the answer already, and even though he itches to offer reassurance, that's not where this conversation seems to be going. Overall Regina is taking his outburst in stride, as if she'd been expecting it-and good, he thinks, because she should have.

"Someone had to do it, Robin," she returns. She's calm. Weary, even-almost enough so to cover the pleading undertone. "Someone had to take the job, and there was nobody else. You know there wasn't."

No, that's not good enough. Not nearly good enough.

"Hiding behind the job now, are you?" Robin isn't yelling-he will not yell. But he's mad. He's mad at her, and mad at himself, and mad at this whole damn situation because here they are, together in some capacity for possibly the last time, and this is how they must spend those precious moments. "Tell me something-were you even really trying to find someone, or-?"

"Of course I tried! I almost died trying, and so did you! This isn't the outcome I wanted either, but it's the best I could do-and like every other time life had thrown me a curveball," she says, slipping into that bitter, hopeless, undeserving tone that absolutely kills him inside, "I had to make the best of the situation and just deal with it."

"And what if I don't want to deal with it? Regina-I could have done it!" he bursts out. It's been eating away at him ever since, the thought that he could have come up with the plan before she had the chance. "Did you ever consider that option, even at least after I'd told you I might have to stay anyway? Or do you hold me for such a pathetic leader? Is that why between the two of us you were the only choice?"

Perhaps he's being unfair now, but he can't stop himself. They're both fighting an outside foe-and Regina's inner demons have clearly sided with the enemy.

Those demons also seem to have drained all her ire-or perhaps that's Robin's doing-for she doesn't fight back; only gives him a rueful smile and a sad little headshake.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

He simply can't believe her. Cannot bloody believe the utter lack of fight left in her.

"It matters, Regina," he exhales, running a hand through his hair, "because you never cared to ask whether I was okay with any of this. I was already dead and buried. You could have lived on."

"Did you ask for my opinion before you threw yourself in the crystal's path?"

"That's different. Mine wasn't a premeditated decision."

"But if you'd had time to think it through?"

"Of course I'd have done the bloody same," he says without a second thought. It's the truth-and her raised eyebrow is proof she expected that much.

"Then this is no different."

But it is, and can she really not see why?

"I wasn't actively deceiving you," Robin says quietly.

Regina winces. It's a sore spot for both of them, with scars to show for it, and the truth of his words cuts deep. Her eyes drop to her feet, then settle upon his face, soft and unguarded.

"For that," she says, "I'm sorry."

* * *

It's Roland's screams that wakes him, bringing an end to the nightmarish argument, but he swears Regina's presence lingers in the bedroom as he soothes his sobbing son. Henry materialises within the minute, picking up Roland's toy monkey from the floor and pressing it into the boy's little hands as he pulls up a chair beside them.

"Have you slept at all?" Robin asks when Roland nods off again, monkey clutched to his chest.

"Not much," Henry confesses. "But I had this dream."

"Of your mother?"

"Yeah. She said she'd visit you, too." Henry shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at him. "She said you're angry with her."

"Regina told you that? In a dream?" Magic, it seems, will never cease to surprise him.

"She told me what happened." Taking a deep breath, Henry seems to brace himself before admitting: "I'd be mad, too, if I were you." He wrings his hands, shifting in the chair again. "I'm actually mad at her as it is."

Robin can relate, he really can.

For Henry, this is a blow unlike any, and it doesn't seem to have fully sunk in yet. People around him keep popping in and out of death these days after all-why wouldn't the poor lad hope his mother will manage, too?

The last thing he needs is to feel guilty about his emotions though-or misplace the anger he, quite understandably, feels.

"Henry, first of all, anger is a perfectly natural reaction to loss. Secondly, your mother did what she thought was right. She was wrong-but the past has a way of catching up with us sometimes, making us believe things that aren't necessarily true."

"Like she should have died instead of you," Henry says slowly.

"Like she doesn't deserve to be happy, no matter how hard she tries to atone for her past. Which we both know isn't the case." Henry nods miserably, and Robin can't help but remember, with a sinking heart, how hard Henry'd worked to help Regina believe in the possibility of her very own happy ending. "What I'm trying to say is, I am very angry, and hurt, over what Regina did-but I understand why she thought she needed to do it."

Perhaps he should have led with that instead of throwing accusations at her.

"I just wish there was some way to make things right. For both of you."

Henry's face glistens with tears-but just as Robin reaches for his shoulder, the boy's eyes light up, focused at only he knows what new idea.

"Gotta go," he says hastily. "See you later."

* * *

Henry returns triumphantly just an hour later as Robin's trying to wrestle the toaster into obedience, and levels him with an unexpected piece of information.

After a barrage of inquisitive questions, Rumplestiltskin eventually shed light on the convoluted world of dreamscapes. The line between the Realm of Dreams and the Realm of Death, the Dark One said, is a fine one, easy to transcend provided one knows how.

"That means we can communicate after all-even without seances."

* * *

Never has the idea of naps been as tempting as it is now.

Jumbled thoughts keep him up, however, and perhaps it's better this way. His motive is so clear, so transparent, Robin wonders if the magic would even work if he were able to fall asleep.

Roland, on the other hand, refuses to take his afternoon nap for fear he might wake to another nightmare-or worse, the reality of his father gone once again.

So they walk. Robin first, with Roland in tow, as fast as his boy's short legs allow. They don't talk much, but seek solace where they always have-in nature's lap. The woods around Storybrooke are a canvas upon which autumn has painted with every which hue, and it does bring them some semblance of peace. Or so Robin thinks, letting his mind and his legs wander freely.

"Papa," pipes up Roland, tugging at his hand. "Are we going to see R'gina?"

He looks down at his son, then up ahead- _oh_.

Haphazardly places headstones litter the path before them, and at the end looms the Mills family crypt.

 _My mind was in the forest, but my heart took me here._

Robin's heart squeezes so painfully he clutches at his chest.

There is no headstone though, no place of final rest they could visit Regina at-only the vault. And even though he didn't mean to come here, even though she hasn't been laid to rest inside-can't be, for there's no remains to speak of-it feels right to enter.

Roland seems more curious than scared as they walk inside, his head wobbling groggily as he's being carried in the near dark. Robin had found the vault oddly enticing once, even cheery in warm, soft candlelight-but undoubtedly the place's charm had been her presence more than anything.

All it holds now is gloom, chill, and dreariness.

 _You should be here_ , he thinks as his eyes burn, _among the living-with us_.

The tomb of Regina's parents is watching, like a dusty marble face with haphazard markings for wrinkles, crisscrossing over the lid.

Robin blinks. Shifting Roland-now fast asleep-in his arms, he steps closer.

 _Bloody hell._

Those haphazard markings aren't random at all. They're letters. Three short lines of text

 _Do set your sights closer, dear child,_

 _For the answer you seek_

 _Lies inside._

* * *

Robin doubts very many people have ever gone to sleep with a mission of such magnitude, or an audience this large. One could hear a pin drop-or suffocate for the tension in the air. But the draft concocted thanks to Belle's research works like a spell, and soon he drifts all the way to the cold waters of the Styx.

Dreams have barriers and limits of their own, but they're not governed by the same rules the waking world is.

He crosses the river on the wings of Dreams, just like he's been instructed, and finds himself at the foot of the ebony throne.

The sight of him startles her, makes life flicker in dark eyes before the light goes out again.

"Go home, Robin," she says, imploring. "I don't want to fight anymore. Please."

"I'm not here to fight."

She meets him halfway for the kiss that burns through them like wildfire, driving out every last bit of the otherworldly chilliness clinging to this place. She sighs as his fingers card through her hair, and Robin allows himself to get lost in the moment, just for a little while, gasping as she presses up against him, warm and soft and wonderful.

"I want this-us-back," he tells her simply when they break apart.

But of course she misunderstands.

"You can't do this," she says, taking a step back and crossing her arms the way she does when she feels vulnerable but tries to hide it. "We can't keep switching places forever. _This_ is final, Robin. It has to be."

At least she's listening-not hearing him yet, but she could have him out of her realm at the snap of her fingers if she wanted to, and yet she's allowing him to stay. Surely that counts for something.

"But it doesn't," he argues. "And while the idea of switching does have its merits," he concedes, for even though the two of them would still be forever separated, their children would benefit in a way, "I've a much better proposal."

* * *

Regina shouldn't allow this.

She should have put a stop to this the first time round, or made more than just a half-hearted attempt to. She should put a stop to it right now, without hearing his arguments, for he's never going to convince her to buy herself out with his life.

But Regina is weak. She doesn't want to part with him-not even like this, with no future or prospects other than occasional meetings in his dreams.

 _I've a much better proposal_ , he says, and she both wants and doesn't want to believe him.

Before she can protest, however, he opens the satchel previously slung over his shoulder, and approaches the small altar sitting in the middle of the throne room. From the satchel he retrieves bottles and vials, lining them up carefully: milk and honey, wine and water, barley and-is that _blood?_

"Robin, what are you-"

She reaches to stay his hand, but he just shakes his head and smiles ruefully.

"It's not a trick," he says, and guilt bubbles up in her at the implied _unlike yours had been_. "I promise."

How far does his honour go, when he'd already denounced it for her once?

She's terrible for him. She shouldn't allow him anywhere near her, should protect him from hers-

It most definitely is blood, that last vial he now reaches for, pouring it onto the altar after all the other containers have been emptied there.

A sacrifice.

To whom?

Regina is barely breathing, eyes firm on him-but it's not her Robin is looking at.

A shade materialises where she follows his gaze, far across the room out of reach of the burning torches, and it approaches swiftly.

"Mother?" Regina gasps.

"Yes, my dear." Cora looks her up and down, sighing: "And not a moment too soon."

To her surprise, Cora steps to Robin next. A part of Regina riots the minute she offers a hand to him, an awful memory flashing before her from another place and time, another love taken from her after her mother's feigned offer of peace. But this is not the same man, nor is her mother the same person. They shake hands, Cora clasping both of Robin's, who returns the gesture, all with an inexplicable air of familiarity.

Like an unspoken pact Regina isn't privy to.

Looking between her mother and her soul mate and unsure not only of just what's happening but also, right now, of her feelings about all this, she breathes: "I don't understand."

They exchange glances, her soul mate and her mother, and Cora nods.

Robin steps forward, taking Regina's hand, no longer able to contain the bright, hopeful smile settling on his gorgeous face.

"We looked in all the wrong places, Regina. Not that we could help it much, what with all the chaos-but the hints we got, we failed to understand." He squeezes her fingers, and Regina squeezes back, the buzz of thoughts gone haywire settling. "You thought those three lines revealed to you in a dream, under the Elm where False Dreams cling under every leaf, referred to you as the future Queen of the Dead. But that's not what they really meant."

"They said to look closer," she says slowly, if a touch defensively. "To look inside." And how does he even know about the dream? She'd certainly never told him-not after she'd begun to suspect what she had to do. "How do you know what they meant?"

"Because I sent you that dream," Cora steps in. "Just as I sent Robin the message. On my tombstone. Look inside _?_ "

 _Look inside._

 _Inside._

All this time Regina believed the answer lied inside _her_ , when in truth it was inside _her mother's tomb_.

"You?" she lets out as tear spring in her eyes.

Cora smiles-a sad little thing Regina recognises, filled with remorse and determination and, yes, hope.

"I always meant for it to be me, Regina. Once I used to wish it for all the wrong reasons, but things are different now. I didn't get to make amends in life, but I hope I can still do so in death."

Somewhere in a remote corner of her heart, the implications of her mother's words pour life-giving water onto the shoot of hope too tough to eradicate. Regina's mind can't quite catch up just yet, so she turns to Robin again, wraps her arms around his torso loosely, head tilted in confusion-there's so much she doesn't understand.

"How did you know what to do?"

Robin smiles at that, smiles at _her_ , and rubs up and down her arms soothingly.

"Henry was the one to suggest the seance. We failed at first, but your sister offered to help, and she and Emma eventually had enough magic between them to accomplish the task. So your mother was able to give detailed instructions."

"So you're saying we both get to leave? To live again?"

Is this still Robin's dream, or is Regina the one dreaming instead?

"If that's what you want," Cora says, the simple statement charged with emotion.

Regina is utterly stunned. Her mother is volunteering to rule the dead in her stead, so that she can go home with Robin. And her words aren't the manipulation of yore, don't carry that hint of passive aggressive guilt trip she once would be treated to on a regular basis. They're genuine.

"Exactly," she confirms, her smile a bit brighter in response to the stirrings of Regina's own. "It's only fitting, Regina. I did want to be queen all my life. I pressed you to become one when I couldn't, and took one true love away from you before. Let me at least try to make things right. Take your second chance."

Slipping from Robin's arms, Regina finds herself in her mother's instead, only to be met with the kind of warm embrace she'd so craved, and gone without, as a child.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Cora whispers. "You were a good queen, and you're an even better mayor."

Whether Cora knows how much this means to Regina, despite decades of wishing herself free of the craving for her mother's approval, she doesn't know-what she does realise, however, when the few inevitable sobs cease, is that there's someone else standing nearby that deserves to hear similar words from her. Because they're true, and she never wants him to doubt himself or her opinion of him.

Robin beams at her, clearly touched, as she approaches him, running the pad of her thumb along the line of his jaw.

"I think you're a wonderful leader," she says firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. "That's why people choose to follow you."

Robin tilts his head, pressing his lips together.

"You can't just decide what's best for me-or us-and not let me have a say." His tone is gentle, unaccusing, so very patient even after what happened. "Especially when you know I disagree."

"No, I know. I do. And I really, truly am sorry about that."

A soft peck is all the answer he gives-she's forgiven.

Time to look to the future.

"Ready to come home with me?" he asks, the intensity of his smile in contrast with the tears rolling down her cheeks. Or perhaps not-they come from the same incredulous, happy, hopeful place.

"There's nothing I'd love more."

As if she'd been waiting for no more, Cora steps to the altar and touches a hand to it. The ebony throne shakes, rattling the sombre regalia piled atop-and the sceptre appears in the hands of the new empress.

The world around them goes fuzzy as Regina and Robin hold on to each other, soaring through fantastical realms, until they're laid gently down in the one they call home.

As they blink the remains of sleep away, Cora's voice echoes softly in her ear.

"Regina? Do try to go a while without visiting again-both of you."

* * *

 _(AN: Cora's become Persephone and Outlaw Queen go home together to live their happy beginning - finally everything is right with the world! ;))_


End file.
